The idea of ​​waking up early to see the sunrise thrill me to die, but that Saturday at 5.00 in the morning in the motor home was so cold, I had a lot of sleep and the idea of ​​going out from the covers was a hot thought I was looking for to remove with all his strength.

But outside, in the parking lot at the base of the cable car Col Margherita, on the Passo San Pellegrino in Val di Fassa, it was all a bustle of cars, a clamor of people alternately with boos and indications of parking. I would not be able to sleep again. Anyway, I could not give up the spectacle of the rising sun at high altitude at the Sounds of the Dolomites.


Clothes onion us, and with a battery backpack found by chance (and thankfully) in a closet to protect the little Lola from the cold, we reached the copious group of people as we were waiting for the cable car up to the Col Margherita where at 6 am, after the sunrise, they would have sounded horns Scala.

After climbing in the large walk-in less than two minutes we were on the Col Margherita. The only ones to realize that we had very hilly route – about 600 m – were our ears plugged.

We got to the top that the sun was peeping through the mountains: the contrast of dark rocks, in shadow, with that fireball emerging from the horizon made jagged eyes sparkle.

I do not know how else to describe that moment except to say that I was out of breath.

The air was crisp and fragrant morning and dew. I breathed in deeply, but my chest was almost as bad I was struck by the immeasurable beauty that surrounded me.

The descent to the amphitheater that housed the Sounds of the Dolomites has been slow: we enjoyed every step, every little ray of sun that slowly reached our bodies numb them and warmed before lukewarm, then intensifying its warm touch hand Hand the minutes flowed.

We took place on a cold, wet rock: on the left the sun that hit the face in front of us a small stage with the horn, and all around so many people spread their blankets rolled in sleeping bags , embraced to enjoy the show.
Caps on his head, scarves, jackets and fleece. It was so cold, but when the music started to infuse the air, the mountains behind the musicians color of a bright orange and yellow tones take on the plateau of the green on there we are a little ‘forgotten.


These Sounds of the Dolomites for me were pure poetry: the poetry of the music, but also the poetry of the mountains, because I’ll be honest, without detracting from the skill of the musicians, I could play for anyone, and it would be nice to equal, because those mountains , with the color of dawn, the shadows and the lights in the morning, their being in the mountains themselves and by themselves were more than enough.

I want you to feel the emotion in my heart every time I think about it, I do not think I will succeed, then I leave you hear a few notes of that morning, shooting a video made with the iPhone that does not do anything but maybe It will give you an idea of ​​what I

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